Even
by BabelFish42
Summary: "It's good to have someone around to save your life. How many times has it been now, Lir? Four?" The lives of three Misbegotten soldiers may not mean much to the Empire, but to each other, they mean everything. A series of one-shots centered around the three seraphim siblings. Each story describes one of the times they've saved each other's life.
1. One - Zero

_Hazael was offended. "What about me? I'm pretty sure it was me they were afraid of."_

_"Yes, because nothing instills fear quite like bragging how many times your sister has saved your life."_

_"Well, I left out how many times I've saved your life," he said. "I believe we're currently even?"_

_- Days of Blood and Starlight_

* * *

She crashed to the ground with a bone-jarring impact. Her teeth slammed together, catching the side of her tongue between them. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. The pieces of her wooden shield, shattered by the blow of Arazel's flail, lay scattered on the ground around her.

"Bastard brat," the older seraph spat, aiming a vicious kick at Liraz's stomach. Liraz rolled away, dodging the kick, and leapt to her feet. Weapon. She needed a weapon.

Liraz coughed, and a mouthful of bloodly spit – and a baby tooth – fell onto the moonlit dust of the sparring ring. In spite of the pain, she managed a mocking laugh. "And what do you think you are, heir to the throne? At least I'm not a bastard _and_ a coward."

The other girl answered by sending the spiked metal ball of her flail hissing through the air. Liraz went airborne, and the flail slammed into the ground where she'd been standing a second before.

"What's wrong, Arazel?" Liraz taunted. "Too scared to face me in a fair fight?"

"Don't let her fly off," Arazel called to the twins, Vela and Dior, at the edge of the ring. One of them – Liraz never could tell which was which – nodded and launched herself into the night sky, blocking Liraz's path back to the relative safety of the barracks. The other twin stayed on the ground next to the weapons rack, just in case Liraz decided to try arming herself.

"Fly off?" Liraz echoed. "Why would I pass up such an excellent opportunity to humiliate you?"

"We'll see who humiliates who." Arazel launched herself into the night air towards her fellow soldier-in-training.

Despite being unarmed and half the size of her opponent, Liraz had no doubt she'd have won if Arazel had come alone. She managed to dodge Arazel's powerful but clumsy aerial attacks, grabbed a piece of her splintered shield off the ground, and used it to stab the older girl's arm badly enough to make her drop her weapon. That was when Vela and Dior decided to intervene.

Minutes later, the twins had Liraz pinned to the ground, holdng her in place as Arazel moved in, gripping her spiked flail in her left hand now. The look of murderous rage on the older girl's face told Liraz she was in for worse than just a beating.

Deaths at the training camp were not unheard of. The young soldiers-to-be trained with blunt weapons, and under the supervision of training officers, but accidents did happen. As did other deaths that were not so accidental. Skirmishes like this one were forbidden, but the officers typically turned a blind eye to them, the conventional wisdom being that any child who could not survive the training camp was hardly fit for the battlefield.

"You picked a fight with the wrong person, brat."

"That's right." Liraz's face was bloody, but ferocious as ever. "Can't let anyone find out you got beaten by an unarmed little girl, can you?"

Arazel smiled wickedly. "Oh, I don't think I'm the one getting beaten here tonight."

"Really?" A new voice, a deeper voice, startled the four girls. They turned to see Hazael and Akiva standing by the weapons rack. It was Hazael who had spoken.

"Three against one? I know our sister is a vicious little nine-year-old, but that seems a bit much, don't you think? You should have at least armed her to make it more interesting."

Liraz wasn't nine, she was eleven, as were her brothers. But as tiny as she was, she could've easily passed for someone even younger. Hazael, on the other hand, had always been big for his age, and he towered over the twins. Even Arazel, who matched him in size, seemed intimidated.

"If you really want some quality training," Akiva added, "let's make it a fair fight." He grabbed a sword from the weapons rack. "Three on three."

The twins glanced nervously at Arazel. She was livid.

"On the other hand," Hazael added casually, picking up a sword of his own. "It is rather late. If you're tired, we understand. Call it a night, go get some rest. Sunrise is just a few hours away."

"Let's go." The twins released Liraz and flew back towards the main camp, Arazel right behind them.

Liraz, still on her back, let out a deep breath and stared up at the stars. There was a new hole in her back row of teeth. She vaguely wondered how many more molars she still had to lose.

A minute later, her half-brother's face loomed over her, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. Only someone who knew Hazael as well as she did could tell how furious he really was beneath his smile.

"Making friends, Lir?"

"Everywhere I go."

He offered her his hand, but she waved him aside and pulled herself to her feet.

Akiva made less of an effort to conceal his anger. "What were you thinking?" he yelled, grabbing her by the shoulders.

She shoved him away. "What I do is none of your concern! I don't need my brothers fighting my battles for me."

"A duel with Arazel? _Arazel_? Are you insane? You know she doesn't play fair! She would have killed you, Liraz! If Hazael hadn't found out about it –"

"Of course. Hazael finds out everything, doesn't he?" She knew she was being irrational, but she didn't care.

"I try," Hazael replied. "It's nice to know when my siblings' lives are in danger."

"I wasn't in danger, and I didn't need your help!"

Akiva laughed harshly. "Not what it looked like to me."

"Shut up, Akiva! You think just because I'm a girl –"

"Fine. You can just get yourself killed next time. See if I care." With that, Akiva stormed off in the direction of the barracks.

"You could try saying thank you," Hazael suggested. "That's a more typical response when someone just saved your life."

"I don't need saving," Liraz replied through gritted teeth.

"Maybe you don't. But we do."

Liraz gave him a confused look.

Hazael laid a hand on her shoulder. "We need you, Lir. So don't disappear on us. Okay?"

Her icy exterior cracked, just a little, and her anger melted away. "Don't worry, Hazael. I won't disappear."

They began walking slowly back to camp, casting faint shadows in the moonlight.

"Besides," Liraz broke the silence a few moments later. "I have to get even with you now."

"Even?"

"You saved my life. Now I have to save yours. Otherwise you're one point ahead of me."

He raised an eyebrow. "So this is a game now?"

"Yes. And you know I never lose."

"Is that a challenge?"

"More like a statement of fact."

"Hmm. We'll see about that, my sister."

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought! Reviewers make me extremely happy. I'm also thinking of continuing this if people are interested in it. I have eight more chapters kinda sorta planned out.

I'm a little worried the three siblings act older than they really are here. But I attribute that to 1) they're seraphim, not human, so maybe they grow up a little faster, and 2) they're soldiers in training, so of course they've had to grow up quickly.


	2. One - One

Author's Note: Not a very happy chapter. The next one will have some more lightness in it, I promise.

* * *

"Here," Rowen said. "Give me your hand. I'll show you."

Hazael obliged. He watched as the older soldier laid a needle in a flame for a couple minutes while he took out a bottle of black ink.

"How many?"

"What?"

"How many did you kill?"

"Three."

He closed his eyes, and their faces flashed before him. A Naja man with a snake head but a human face. He hadn't screamed as he died. He couldn't. Hazael had stabbed him straight through his throat. A tiger-headed Dashnag woman. She had cried out – half human scream, half animal roar – as he slashed her open from shoulder to belly. And a slender Kirin boy. A soldier, yes, but hardly old enough to be called a man. Their fight had taken place high above the battlefield. What the boy lacked in strength he more than made up for in speed and agility. Until Hazael had managed to sever one of his enormous wings. Then he had fallen to the ground in pieces, spinning and thrashing wilding, trying and failing to right himself with only one wing.

An involuntary shudder passed over his face. Hazael was seated around the campfire with other soldiers from his regiment. Akiva was a few paces to his left, staring deeply into the flames. Liraz was next to him, busy tattooing her own fingers. At least they had both survived the battle unharmed, Hazael thought quietly. Several other new recruits had not been so fortunate.

Rowen's armor marked him as Misbegotten, and his heavily blackened fingers marked him as a seasoned killer. But his expression was surprisingly gentle as he took Hazael's right index finger and began inking in the first tattoo.

"How old are you, soldier?" he asked.

"Fourteen."

Rowen nodded. "First battle's the worst. It gets easier after that."

Hazael said nothing. Instead he turned and stared at the other fires blazing in the darkness of the battlefield. Fires of the dead. The smoke rising from them was even blacker than the night sky. Black as the three new marks on his finger. It blotted out the stars. Which fires contained the remains of the Naja man and the Dashnag woman? Where was the Kirin boy?

Rowen followed his gaze. "They fought bravely."

Hazael turned back to him, surprised, thinking he meant the chimaera warriors.

Rowen continued, "We'll make sure we avenge them." He returned the needle and ink to his tattoo kit and rose to his feet. "Get some rest. We move forward at dawn."

The campfire dwindled as one by one soldiers began to retire to their tents. Hazael, exhausted yet afraid to try to sleep, stayed where he was.

"Hazael." He looked up to see his brother. "Are you all right?"

Hazael dropped his gaze. He stared at the three black bars on his right index finger and shrugged. "I'm alive."

Akiva dropped down beside him and took his tattooed hand. Akiva's fingers bore marks of their own now, he noticed. Four of them.

"You're alive, and so are we. That's what matters."

"I know." Hazael replied, still staring at the marks on his hands.

"They're beasts, Hazael. Just beasts." Akiva sounded as though he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Hazael.

Hazael nodded numbly. He knew the chimaera were beasts. More to the point, they were the enemy. But when they cried out in pain – or worse, when they cried out in grief – they sounded like seraphim.

"I'm glad you're okay," Akiva said. "Liraz told me you almost…"

"Yeah." He nodded. "Early in the battle. I froze. I knocked one of the them to the ground, and… I should have killed him, but I just…"

"It's okay."

"No. It's not. Akiva, I'm not… I'm not made for this. I'm not a soldier."

Akiva was at a loss for words. "Hazael…" Hazael was pretty sure that, despite preparing for this their entire lives, Akiva felt no more cut out for this lifestyle than he did.

"It will get easier," Akiva said at last. "Everyone says so."

"And that's supposed to make us feel better?"

Akiva shrugged. Poor Akiva. Usually Hazael was the one trying to cheer his siblings up, not the other way around. Akiva wasn't sure how to fill this role.

"Liraz was amazing, though," Akiva said at last, attempting to change the subject.

Hazael smiled. "She was the one who saved me. When I froze up, one of the chimaera almost skewered me. She came out of nowhere and blocked the blow."

Akiva and Hazael looked over to where their sister was crouched in the firelight, lovingly cleaning her blade. The sword was nearly half her height, but she handled it with terrifying ease. Not for the first time, Hazael found himself marveling over how someone so tiny could be so deadly.

Liraz seemed to feel their gaze on her, for as she finished polishing her blade, she lifted her head, met their eyes, and smiled. She stood up, sheathing the blade, and walked swiftly over to join her brothers.

"Talking about me behind my back again, were you?" She smiled playfully. Unlike her half-brothers, Liraz had been in an unusually good mood all evening. On her left hand, the ink of her self-made tattoo bars shone brightly in the firelight. Hazael counted seven of them.

"Gossip about you?" Akiva smiled half-heartedly. "No one who values their personal safety does that."

"I was only telling Akiva how you saved my life today," Hazael explained. Liraz's expression fell the slightest bit, as she thought of how close her brother had come to death that afternoon. But the gloom on her face didn't last long.

"You know what that means, right?" She grinned that vicious grin of hers. "One point for me."

Hazael felt sick to stomach, but he fought down the nausea and forced a smile. "Yeah. I guess we're even."

"For now," Liraz agreed.

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! If you'd like to make a random stranger extremely happy, please leave feedback. I will be forever grateful.


	3. One - Two

"Hazael. What are you doing with those flowers?"

"This, my sister, is the ancient art of flower arranging. Why? Would you like me to teach you?"

"No." Liraz made a grab for the flowers, but Hazael pulled them safely out of her reach.

"Jealous, Lir? Don't worry. I can find some for you too, if you'd like."

"_Jealous_?" Her hand drifted unconsciously to the hilt of her sword. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"Careful, Hazael," Akiva cautioned.

"The trick is," Hazael continued, ignoring them both, "to alternate the colors. Like this, see?" He held up the bundle of blue and white wildflowers. "And to remove the thorns. That's important, too."

Liraz regained her composure. Or tried to. "You're embarrassing yourself. What kind of self-respecting soldier spends his time picking flowers?"

Akiva shrugged. "A soldier who doesn't have much else to do?" He had a point. Their regiment was currently stationed at the cusp of the Saveen Valley. It was a path commonly taken by chimaera supply conveys and groups of refugees en route to Loramendi, and their assignment was to guard the pass and ambush any beasts who tried to cross. What this translated to was day after day of monotonous watching and waiting, broken up by the occasional skirmish. Liraz thought she might go insane with boredom. Hazael, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying this respite from the frequent battles. Enjoying it far too much, Liraz thought.

"Are you defending him?" she challenged Akiva. "I can think of a thousand better ways he could be spending his time."

Hazael responded first. "Come on, Liraz, what's the harm in it? Besides, they're not for me."

"That just makes it worse!"

A sly grin tugged at Akiva's lips. "So are those Mirian's favorite flowers?"

"Hmmm." Hazael paused to consider this. "Not sure, actually. Guess I'll just have to ask her and find out."

Mirian was a young Second Legion soldier in the regiment that Hazael, Akiva, and Liraz were currently assigned to. She kept her long, dark hair tied back in thick knot, and her blade-shaped eyes were deep green and often crinkled in laughter. Though she wasn't one of the Misbegotten herself, Mirian showed none of the condensation towards them that so many other regular division soldiers did. She would talk to anyone, no matter what color of armor they wore. Akiva respected her as a solid fighter, and enjoyed hearing her tell jokes and stories around the evening campfire. Liraz despised everything about her, from her childish sense of humor, to the happy way she went about such mundane tasks as building a fire - always _far_ too cheerful. And Hazael? He couldn't seem to get enough of her.

"Well, Hazael," Akiva said, still smiling, "here's your chance to ask her." Liraz followed his gaze and saw, to her great annoyance, Mirian heading out to the field surrounding their camp, probably off to collect firewood or some other inane chore.

Hazael didn't need to be told twice. He winked – winked! – at his siblings. "I'll get to the bottom of this mystery."

Liraz frowned as she watched her brother head off in Mirian's direction. "Do you have to encourage him?" she grumbled to Akiva.

"Why not? Why shouldn't he give her flowers?"

"You know perfectly well why not."

"You're overreacting, Lir. Besides, she makes him happy. Just look at them."

Hazael and Mirian stood facing each other now, standing entirely too close together, Liraz thought. Hazael said something, and Mirian laughed loudly in response. A moment later, and she was laughing again.

"Quit overdoing it," Liraz muttered. "He's not _that_ funny."

She saw Akiva raise an eyebrow. "Well, he's not!" she insisted.

They watched as Hazael reached out his hand and tucked a flower in Mirian's hair.

"What is he thinking?" Liraz grumbled.

"I don't think he's doing much thinking at the moment," Akiva replied.

"Obviously not! What an idiot!"

"Relax, Lir. He's seventeen. It's normal."

"We're seventeen too! But you don't see _me_ prancing around like some love-struck, starry eyed fool!"

"Let him be. It's just a phase, it will pass."

But it didn't pass. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and still they remained stationed at the valley's edge. And still, Hazael and Mirian exchanged furtive glances, brushed hands in a way that only appeared accidental, and had a habit of mysteriously disappearing at exactly the same time.

Liraz was actually glad when a scout returned to camp and informed them that a battalion of chimaera was moving in on their position. She yearned for a fight – anything to take her mind of her brother's infuriating infatuation with Mirian. And she hoped the action might somehow bring him back to his senses too.

The night before the seraphim planned to attack the approaching monsters, Hazael lay wide awake in the tent he shared with Akiva, Liraz, and roughly a dozen other half-siblings. Hazael listened carefully to his surroundings, but the tent was completely silent apart from the sounds of the soldiers breathing peacefully as they slept. Once he was convinced they were all deep in slumber, Hazael rose to his feet, stepped carefully around his sleeping comrades, and vanished through the folds of the tent.

Outside, he cast almost no shadow in the gloom as he headed swiftly away from the center of the seraphim camp. It was a dark night; Nitid hung low on the horizon, leaving only Ellai to cast her pale light on the world below.

A dark figure sat waiting below a cherrynut at the edge of their camp. She rose to greet Hazael, wrapping him in a warm embrace.

"Hello." Mirian whispered.

"Hello." He whispered back, reaching up to smooth a loose strand of hair from her forehead.

"What brings you out here so late at night?"

"Is it late?" Hazael's brow arched up in surprise. "I had no idea. Well, that explains why the place is so empty."

She laid an accusing finger on his chest. "You didn't answer my question."

"Hmm. Let's see." Hazael pretended to think. "Delivering an urgent message to the general?"

"The general's tent is that way." Mirian tilted her head to indicate the opposite side of camp.

"Looking for my misplaced helmet?"

"It's on your head," she smiled.

"Ah, wait! Sentry duty! That was it. I'm on sentry duty." He grinned, looking quite pleased with himself. "Now I remember."

"Sentry duty." Mirian's voice was highly skeptical.

"That's right. Guarding the camp. Keeping a lookout for dangerous creatures like you."

"Oh, I'm a beast, am I?"

Hazael nodded solemnly. "Yes. And a magician too. You've only disguised yourself to look like a seraph."

"Mmm. You caught me. But tell me, how did you see through my disguise?"

"Well, my lady, you've outdone yourself."

"Outdone myself how?"

"Your disguise was too well made. No true seraph is this perfect." He lifted his hand to trace her face. "And you've cast your spell on me even now."

Her soft laughter echoed in the pale moonlight. "I know a few other tricks too." She touched her lips softly to his. "Would you like me to show you?"

After that, they spoke only in short whispers or not at all, their lips otherwise engaged. It was some time before they finally drew apart and, after one final embrace, went their separate ways. Hazael walked slowly in the darkness, unable to stop replaying the memories in his head.

"I love you," Mirian had told him before she left.

"You shouldn't," he'd sighed, knowing it probably wasn't the reply she wanted to hear.

But she had simply kissed him again in response. "I don't care."

Hazael tried to clear his head, turn his thoughts to other matters. How many more hours till sunrise? He tried to look at the position of the moons and take a guess as he headed back to his tent. Hazael was so distracted looking at the celestial bodies and trying to guess the time, that he nearly walked straight into his half-sister.

Liraz's arms were crossed across her chest. Sparks flew from her wings, and her face was a mask of barely contained rage. When she spoke, however, her voice was surprisingly under control.

"If you're going to sneak out in the middle of the night," she whispered. "You should try to be a little quieter."

"Sorry about that, Lir. I'll make sure not to wake you up next time."

Her voice rose several octaves. "Next time?! There won't _be_ a next time, Hazael! What do you think you're doing?"

"What? We were just-"

"Don't tell me you were just!" she seethed. "You're Misbegotten, Hazael. Or have you forgotten? This kind of foolishness is forbidden for bastards like you!"

"Thanks for the reminder, Liraz," he said coldly. "For the record, I haven't forgotten."

"Good," she replied harshly. "Make sure you don't."

He snorted. "Or what? You'll report me?"

"Maybe I will!" It was a threat that neither of them believed for a second.

Hazael sighed. "You should rest. We attack at a dawn."

"I know that," she spat. "I'm not the one who's forgotten why we're here."

Hazael opened his mouth to reply, but was distracted by a flicker of light in the distance.

Liraz turned. "What is that?"

"I don't know." Hazael had a suspicion. But he hoped he was wrong. A second later, however, the blare of a sentry's horn confirmed his fears. The fighting would not begin at dawn after all.

Liraz's eyes were wide. "The chimaera. They're here!"

What happened afterwards was a blur: the scramble to wake their comrades and to ready themselves quickly gave way to the chaos of battle as the monsters' ranks closed in on theirs. Liraz didn't see how Mirian died. She was too focused on her own opponents to pay much attention to the rest of her comrades. If she hadn't heard Hazael's gut-wrenching cry of grief, and turned to see what had happened, she wouldn't have noticed at all.

Hazael caught Mirian as she fell, cradled her head as her eyes glazed over and her wings dimmed. He tried frantically - and futilely - to stop the blood from seeping through the gash in her belly. He sank to the ground still holding her, utterly oblivious to the battle around him... and the minotaur who had just spotted him.

"Hazael!" Liraz shrieked. No response. The monster was moving toward her brother now, battle-ax raised.

"Hazael, _get up! MOVE!_"

They were too far away. Hazael saw the minotaur, now that the monster was practically on top of him, and he scrambled away, narrowly missing a death blow, trying to draw his sword only to find it was not there, it still lay on the ground where he'd dropped it, next to Mirian's lifeless form. He reached for it, but he was too slow, and Liraz saw the shaft of the monster's ax sweep his feet from under him. She was racing toward them, but she wasn't fast enough, and the minotaur's blade was raised once more. Hazael lay sprawled on the ground beneath him. She knew, with awful certainty, that there was no way the beast would miss at such close range.

As the minotaur hefted his weapon, Liraz threw her sword at the minotaur. It was an idiotic, desperate move. Swords were not made for throwing. So she was almost more shocked than relieved to see her blade sink deep into the flesh below the beast's upraised arm. The minotaur dropped its ax and sank to its knees with a groan.

That gave Hazael the opening he needed. Snatching up his own blade, he lunged at the monster with lightning speed and beheaded it with a single stroke.

By the time the sun rose, the monsters were retreating. It was a victory, but a hollow one, with heavy casualties for the angels. Mirian was a Second Legion soldier, so after her body was cremated, the ashes were sent home to her family for burial, along with a bit of monetary compensation from the Empire. Hazael seemed to approve of the gesture; he said her family desperately needed the money. That was why Mirian, oldest of four children, had joined the military in the first place.

On the outside, Hazael hardly showed any signs that something was wrong. Conceal your fear, conceal your pain, conceal your loss. Never show weakness. It was what they had been trained to do all their lives, and Hazael was a master at hiding his true thoughts and emotions. But his siblings noted the differences, even if no one else did. They noticed the way his jokes were a little less frequent, his smile a little more strained, his normally voracious appetite a little diminished.

Akiva and Liraz exchanged a worried glance one night when he left the campfire after hardly touching his food, claiming he wasn't hungry.

"Do you think he's okay?" Akiva asked her. Liraz wasn't sure what to say.

She thought of the look on her brother's face when Mirian was struck down, the way he had cradled her head as she died. She shuddered. She never wanted to feel that much pain. _Never_. That was what love did to you – it made you vulnerable. It made you weak.

But if anyone knew how to find happiness in the midst of misery, it was her brother. The weeks passed, summer matured into autumn, and slowly she saw the laughter returning to her brother's eyes. But even still, they always avoided speaking about what had happened at the Saveen Valley. Liraz never mentioned it, and Hazael brought it up once and only once, several months afterwards. It was another quiet night, the sky filled with stars, and both moons hanging high in the sky. Liraz was on sentry duty, and Hazael had come to keep her company.

"Liraz." He was staring at the horizon, not meeting her eyes. "I never said thank you."

"For what?"

"That's twice you've saved my life now."

"Oh." In a flash of memory, she realized what he was referring to. "Yeah. Well, be a bit more careful in the future, would you? I can't be there for you every time."

"Of course not." He turned his eyes to meet hers, his expression gentle. "Sometimes it'll be my turn to be there for you."

"It's two to one, now. Think you can catch up?" She smiled softly, voice turning from playful to serious. "You _will_ always be there. Won't you?"

He returned her smile. "Whenever you need me."

_Well, then_, she thought to herself, _that means always._

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Leave a review, and you will be rewarded with cosmic good will and hard cash. Well, ok, not the hard cash part. But cosmic goodwill, and immense gratitude from me? Definitely.


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